


Touch Yourself

by extension_cord



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Exhibitionism, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sticky Sex, Voyeurism, the good ol' clingity clang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 06:32:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2140722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extension_cord/pseuds/extension_cord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some Drift/Ratchet porn, because why the hell not?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch Yourself

**Author's Note:**

  * For [homosindisguise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/homosindisguise/gifts).



> A certain someone really wanted this written, so here it is! Enjoy!!

* * *

It was at the close of yet another long, demanding, and endlessly frustrating shift in the medibay that Ratchet found himself meandering toward Swerve's bar, legs moving him through the corridors of the  _Lost Light_ as if his body was on autopilot. For better or worse, the place had become Ratchet's customary after-work retreat, and in recent weeks, he and Drift usually met there to commiserate over a few shared drinks.

Except this time, upon his arrival, Drift wasn't there waiting for Ratchet, and after nearly half an hour, the third-in-command still hadn't shown up. Ratchet knocked back the rest of his engex in an attempt to push away the sour thoughts that were swiftly closing in, then headed for the exit. Chances were it was nothing more than a tedious conference with Rodimus and Ultra Magnus that had exceeded its intended timeslot, but the CMO couldn't help but worry and sulk. It had been a trying day, after all, and as Ratchet started the journey to his quarters, he conceded that maybe the best thing for him would be a long and uneventful night of recharge.

His habsuite was unlocked.

Ratchet entered carefully, face a measured scowl. He did _not_ have the patience nor the energy for this sort of thing, and when he got his hands on the idiot who —

_Oh_.

"Hey there, Ratch. I was afraid you'd keep me waiting forever."

Well, that certainly was Drift, laying sprawled on Ratchet's recharge slab, legs spread, port open and spike primed, wearing the accursedly effective _come-hither_ look that Ratchet had become increasingly familiar with. The CMO felt his scowl dissolve, replaced by something entirely different, and without further hesitation he allowed the door to whisk shut behind him. "Cute." 

"I take it you went to Swerve's first? I should've commed you."

Ratchet didn't reply, and instead swept closer, fighting to keep his optics locked on Drift's face and not the shimmering lubricant that stained the third-in-command's inner thighs. "You know, I always took you for a patient 'bot, but I see now that I was wrong in that assumption."

A wicked grin split Drift's face. "Yeah, well, I can only be patient for so long." The former Decepticon let one of his hands slide across his breastplate and down his waist, until it rested at the base of his spike, black fingers caressing a lazy circle over the rim of his port. "You don't look nearly as upset as you did a few seconds ago when you first walked in. I wonder why."

"Drift —" Ratchet choked on whatever he was going to say because, really, what could he say now, when Drift's hand was creeping lower, and two of his fingers were sliding into his hot, dripping port? The CMO coughed static, then heard his cooling fans switch on: a soft whirr punctuated by the lewd, wet sounds of Drift's self-servicing. "That's —"

The third-in-command rocked his pelvic housing against his hand. "You just — just going to stand there, or?"

"Hm." Ratchet took a seat beside Drift, hip armor flush with one of Drift's thighs. The plating was hot, and Ratchet felt the other's energy field tug against his own: needy, filled with hunger and lust. "I don't know. I kinda like watching, kid."

A purr emanated from somewhere deep within Drift's frame, and those black digits sunk deeper into his port, spreading against the pliable walls. "Never — _mmm_ — took you for a voyeur."

"And here I thought you were far too _pure_ and _self-righteous_ to be an exhibitionist." Ratchet allowed his interface paneling to move aside, and soon his spike was standing at attention, hot and pulsing in his hand. "Is this your nightly meditation ritual, or what?"

Drift laughed, though it left his throat in a sort of panting wheeze. "No, but it could be. I just — just really want you inside me, right now. Been thinking about you all day." An almost-vicious thrust of his fingers, then came the name, hissed with debauched reverence, "Oh, _Primus_."

Ratchet felt his fuel pump stutter — at the shameless display, at Drift's words, at the way the third-in-command's electromagnetic field caressed his own — and then his body was moving on its own accord, lifting one of Drift's legs and circling it around his waist, forged red digits sliding over sleek, enameled plating. Drift moaned beneath Ratchet, fingers still knuckle-deep in his port as he bucked against them. "Help me out here, kid."

The ex-Decepticon nodded, optics hazy and delirious as his other hand joined the first. His fingers met at the junction of his thighs, and then he was spreading the swollen lips of his port, holding it open. "C'mon."

The CMO didn't hesitate. Inch by inch he pressed in, hissing with pleasure as the nodes along the shaft of his spike were consumed by wet, electric heat. Finally, with a _clunk_ Ratchet's pelvic housing met Drift's, and then he was pulling back, only to push back in — slowly, carefully, delighting in the wanton bliss that was masking Drift's face. "You good?"

"Better than," Drift rasped. "H-harder."

"Working up to it." Again Ratchet pulled out, his spike nearly leaving Drift's port entirely, before thrusting back in. The ex-Decepticon was more than well-lubricated, and the shimmering fluid surged outward, displaced by Ratchet's girth. It spattered against the CMO's plating, warm and viscous, and _dammit they were making a mess_. A _loud_ mess, because as Ratchet picked up his tempo, Drift's ragged grunts turned into breathy moans, and the sound of their coupling, a wet _shlunk-shlunk_ , was hardly audible over the blasting of their cooling fans.

Drift's head lolled to the side, mouth agape, optics dimmed. A hand snaked up from the surface of the recharge slab, and soon the third-in-command had his digits wrapped around his own spike, pumping it in time to Ratchet's thrusts. Biting back a moan, Ratchet tightened his grip on Drift's thighs, angling himself so that he could penetrate as deeply as possible. The clench on his spike felt divine, the way the internal workings of Drift's port clutched and sucked him in, hot and soaked and pulsing.

The third-in-command's body jerked — thighs quivering, hips bucking — and that black fist pumped harder, sliding up and down, twisting, grip unsteady as he came undone. Ratchet slammed himself in again, fingers pressing dents into armor, pelvic array grinding against Drift's, smearing lubricant, scratching paint.

"Primus _— Primus_ — _oh,_ Primus, _yes!"_ Drift threw his head back as overload consumed him: his frame stiffened and shook beneath Ratchet, the calipers of his port clamped down _hard_ , and transfluid jetted from his spike, splashing against the CMO's abdominal plating. Still Ratchet pounded into that gushing, gaping, spasming port, his thrusts fast and shallow, until climax hit and with a guttural snarl he came, spinal strut going rigid, optics whiting out.

Together they collapsed in a heap, steam pouring from their vents, lubricant and transfluid warm and sticky between their heaving frames. Ratchet cursed as he eased himself out of Drift.; he felt the other laugh beneath him, and then he was being dragged down into a kiss, as equally hot and sloppy as their coupling.

"Holy Primus," Drift breathed at last.

"If your — your nightly meditation crud starts going like this," Ratchet said with a wry grin, "then it's highly possible you can convince me to become a regular participant."

Drift smiled his stunning smile — the one that made Ratchet's spark skip a pulse — and whispered, "I'll take that into consideration."

* * *

 

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading <3


End file.
